


Tulips and Music

by Blessedskies_turning



Category: None - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2019-11-05 18:11:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17923811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blessedskies_turning/pseuds/Blessedskies_turning
Summary: its suggestive





	1. Chapter 1

Chris stood with a large handful of flowers and a smile.

The market was a strange and dazzling place. 

It was centered around a long warehouse looking structure that stretched lengthwise down the coast of the sound. The windows were big and foggy, the ground an uneven cobblestone. Vendors had booths set up on either side, each ushering customers to their products. It was busy. People swarmed this way and that. Most had large cameras slung around their necks and expensive shoes on their feet. 

Chris’ face was joyful and blue. 

Vincent lived his smile more than he felt it. “What are 

those?” 

Rolling his eyes Chris stepped forwards. People moved around them. Vincent tried not to think about how they were being more of a traffic hazard than anything else, Chris was holding flowers. “They are tulips.” He said, pushing the flowers up towards Vincent’s face.   
Vincent obliged and leaned down to get a whiff. 

They were in Seattle. Somewhere in the past few months Chris had decided a vacation was necessary. Maybe because he was bored. Maybe because he was tired of having Ritter around all the time.

“Smells like fish.” Vincent said. The thing Vincent had seen the most when he looked up Pike Place was the fish throwers. Being on the coast Seattle was a hub for fishing, and being a farmers market fish were sold here. The smell had permeated everything. 

Chris let out a laugh. “They’ll smell better when we get back to the hotel.”   
Vincent couldn’t miss the way Chris pressed his lips together in a private smile. “ I hope so.” 

He tugged Vincent a bit closer. He was wearing a white and black button up number. His hair was freshly cut. 

There was a lot of sound. Voices rose and fell, bells hanging off signs the vendors used chimed. Somewhere there was music. Maybe in the square that sided the market. 

It was easy. The slide of Vincent’s hand against Chris’ stubble. The gentle press of the 

flowers between them. The small sigh Vincent let out every time they kissed, like he was being reminded this was real. Chris was real. 

“Thank you.” Vincent muttered, finally taking the flowers from Chris. “They do smell good.” They were a cheery yellow color.   
Chris simply took his hand and turned as they wandered off through the crowd. 

Vincent had to admit, the whole atmosphere was joyful. He caught the sound of a  violin and a piano, off pounding out a sharp tune. His heart kicked a little bit. They found a giant bronze pig that Chris found hilarious. He told Vincent to pose next to it, and Vincent felt the burn of his smile as he looked at the camera.    


“Rub the belly of the pig and forever have good luck and fortune.” Vincent was reading the plaque at the bottom of the sculpture. “All donations to help feeding the community.” Sure enough, when he looked there was a slot at the top of the animal for money.    


Chris pressed a few dollars into each of their hands. The metal was cold as Vincent’s fingers brushed the underside of it. Loosely he thought as they meandered off that he might not have need that luck. He squeezed the flowers in his hand. 

There was an underground portion of that market. It was like a closed in parking garage, with less darkness and more wood floors and walls. String lights hung off the ceiling, and permanent shops were tucked on either side of the wide and winding hall. Chris pointed at a sign, “Hands of the world.” He then proceeded to make a horrible joke about it. Something to do with Vincent’s hands, and his world. Vincent gave him a flat look. Chris was barely keeping his composure. The tips of his ear were turning pink from the buckets laughter he was gulping down by the second. 

Vincent hid his smile behind his flowers and tugged Chris on. 

“Magic shop.” Chris stopped him. “Oo.” he said, already turning towards it. “Palm readings.” 

It was one of those magic trick shops for ambitious future Las Vegas magicians. It sold all kinds of kits, but Chris wasn’t interested in any of them. He was delighted by the antique arcade games hidden in the back. Vincent observed the machines. Inside each one, behind a pane of glass, was a wax figure. Made to look like Elvis, or an old crone hunched over her tarot cards.    


“Pick one.” Chris said, flipping a coin at Vincent. Vincent caught it messily, and then sent Chris an unsure smile. “What do you want to know Vince? What kind of lover you are. Or what is in your future.” 

“Let's do the Elvis one.” 

Chris knocked his knuckles against the closest one, it had the words RED HOT 

LOVERS carved into the wood. “You just know i’ll beat you.”

“Will not.” Vincent said, taking a step forwards. He set the flowers on the counter and moved up to Chris’ prized machine.   
Chris snorted. “Will too. I’m red hot.” He said with feeling. 

Vincent shot him a disgusted look as he pressed his hand to the palm reader and  inserted the coin.  Chris watched, smiling, as the lights flickered and the machine whirred. Finally there was a ding, and the scale featured behind the glass lit up.    


_ Red Hot.  _

Vincent slid his eyes purposefully over to Chris. “See? I win.”    


“We can still tie.” Chris said, shoving his coin in. Vincent moved aside. 

The gears turned, the lights turned off and on. It let out a loud ding and- Chris got  _ Limp and Tired _ . 

Vincent let out a howl of a laugh. One that started at the base of his stomach and  bubbled out. He pressed a hand to his stomach as he bent over with the sick burst. He could have rolled around in the aisle. Chris was looking at the machine, mouth agape, shouting “Rematch! Rematch.” 

A bit out a breathe Vincent managed, “There is no way you are going to beat me.”    


Chris, looking a bit offended said, “The fuck?” 

Vincent felt weightless. “That joke you made back there tainted all of your chances.” 

The smile that spread across his face assured Vincent Chris wasn’t upset about anything. “Fine. You win.” He said, hooking his fingers into Vincent’s belt loop and pulling him close. “Red hot.”

“Blegh.” Vincent said. 

Chris chuckled. 

They collected the flowers and left the shop.

There was a dainty little store that they were drawn too, a bookstore. It was full to the brim with used paperbacks and dusty hardcovers. Crowded with shelves. Vincent weaved through the isles, touching the spines of books. Chris read a lot, but Vincent never managed to. Somehow that interest had escaped him. But he could still appreciate it. 

The best part however, the reason they went to the shop in the first place was that the clerk sang all his words.   


“Where is your poetry?” Chris asked.    


“ _ It's over there.”  _ It was a operatic style, with notes shoved together to form sentences. “ _ Behind you. See that suit case? No not that one, the other one- the one with the stickers. Ah yes. Now it’s directly across from that. _ ”   

Vincent hid his chuckle as Chris performed a dance to the tune of the man's song. When Christopher found his book he slapped it on the counter and smiled at the clerk. 

The clerk, taking the book of poetry begun to sing again. It was something in Italian, as most operas were. He sang the whole tune as he rung Chris up, Chris was smiling ear to ear. 

“ _ Thank you for coming, enjoy your book.”  _ he said handing Chris the paper bag.

Chris waved and replied, “Thanks. Keeping singing.” 

The next shop they went to was a nick knack store. Packed full of glass figurines and tourist key chains. Quickly Vincent found a pink heart key chain, on it was printed the words “ _ You’re barely resistible”.  _ Pulling it off the hook Vincent chuckled. “Christopher.” He called.    


Moments later Chris poked his head into the isle. “Yes handsome.” 

Vincent held the key chain up, “ _ You’re barely resistible. _ ” 

Chris appeared fully around the corner. Coming up to look at the cherry red words he said, “I thought I was  _ limp and tired _ .” 

“You are. Its my type.” 

Chris raised an eyebrow, his head was ducked to appraise the key chain but Vincent felt his judgmental glare anyways. “You like your men limp and tired?” 

“Duh. We balance each other out anyways.” 

Vincent bought it. And pried it onto Chris’ key ring. 

They ended back up on the loud city street. Taking the fishy smelling elevator back up, Vincent hoped they would stop somewhere. He was getting tired. “Can we get something to eat?” 

“Yeah.” Chris nodded.

The elevator slid open, Chris stepped out. 

The crowd was still thick. Christopher moved through the crowd easily, Vincent held on to his hand as he bulldozed past every one. 

They moved past the fish throwers. Vincent held his flowers up to his nose to cover the stench. It was a round booth, two or three guys in the center all butchering up fish. Vincent couldn’t catch the words but they were singing, some sea shanty. A few vendors stood around the edges. Every time someone pointed at a fish they wanted they would yell. “SALMON!” The rest of the guys would yell back, their voices still musical. The vendor on the outside would heave the fish into the waiting arms of the other guy, over the counter and rows of iced fish. And then the song would continue. It was a joyous process.    


Moving out into the square the two discovered a collection of musicians. All seemed to be independent from each other, gathered on either side of the busy intersection, but their music swirled together. The roads were old brick and blocked off from the actually car used streets. Crowds of people gathered around their cheery music and some even danced in the middle of the square. Worker carried heavy loads over their heads and across the roads. And customers flooded from the open produce store on the other side. 

Vincent was floored by the sense of other. It was like in those old movies Chris made him watch, where a small village would gather proudly in town square, days before a festival. Each person happy and strung out on laughter.    


Chris squeezed his hand. Vincent was getting lost in all of it. It struck him as a place his mother would have loved, deeply and endlessly.  “See this?.” Chris said, pointing to the drain in the ground beneath their feet, “Jimi Hendrix stood right here.” His lips brushed Vincent’s ear as he leaned in. It was hard to be heard over the commotion, and for some reason he wanted to speak softly. “And that,” he gestured to the giant red sign above the market, “was in the background.” 

Vincent’s heart swelled like the crest of a wave. His mouth was open in a smile, an infinite smile. He knew Chris was admiring it, as they stood in the square, music and voices and dancing twirling around them. Chris slid his hand onto Vincent back, his touch grounding and welcomed. Finally Chris leaned his head on Vincent’s shoulder and pressed his eyes close.   
All they could hear was the sound of a soulful violin. 

Vincent felt giddy with happiness.

He closed his eyes too. After awhile Chris finally stirred. His blue eyes snagged on 

Vincent’s. He leaned in to pull a kiss from him. It lasted a long time, and Chris’ cleared his throat when he was done. Vincent couldn’t do much about that while they were standing in the middle of the road. 

“Shall we?” Chris said. Cheeks a little pink. 

“I say, crepes.” 

That's exactly what they did. Vincent had seen a sign for them a while back, and it took some looking but eventually they found it. Chris ordered a chocolate monstrosity, and Vincent got something with strawberries on it. Chris also ordered a milkshake. Vincent ended up drinking most of it. 

The rest of the day was spent shopping and watching. Vincent dragged Chris onto the ferris wheel, Chris kept his eyes closed the entire time. Chris pulled Vincent into the car and kissed him. And then his neck. And then stopped when a family walked by their car. They got hotdogs from one of the few food carts in seattle. Chris took Vincent to the art museum where they played a game of trying to find what abstract painting looked like the other. Vincent chose a splattered canvas with blues and yellows and oranges and whites on it. And Chris chose an all black canvas with a thin white X drawn from edge to edge.   
When they finally made it back to the hotel Vincent’s cheeks hurt. They tumbled into the elevator and Chris was barely able to fish out the keycard to open their hotel door. 

“Are you trying to prove something?” Vincent asked when Chris’ hand were a little to 

determined under his shirt. 

Chris mumbled against his skin. “No. Not at all.” 

“Limp and tired.” Vincent whispered.   
“Am not.” 

“Limp-” 

“Really killing the mood.” Chris deadpanned. 

Vincent laughed. “You think i’m wrong?” 

“I know so.” 

“Prove it.” 


	2. The Rice Krispy Mission

There was a strange man in Gloria’s school. 

Gloria didn’t pay much attention to the staff at her highschool.  Unless, of coarse they were her own teachers, to which she had strong opinions as to whether they were capable enough.  Luckily, most were. Unless you count the math teachers, there were a total of two actually good ones. Gloria felt bad for their shoulders.  Anyway, she hadn’t paid much attention. 

Until her friend Emma, darted into the crowded cafeteria, face pink. “Guys! Guys! He’s coming!”

“Who’s coming?” Gloria said, pushing her chicken tenders around on her plate. 

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” This was Sam, hastily trying to pull out his phone and get ready to take a picture.   
“Fuck, Sam shut the hell up he’s gonna see you flipping the fuck out.” Lexi from across the table, face cool as a melon. 

“Eat my dick, Lexi.” 

“Ew.” Lexi’s face went red. 

Gloria knew who they were talking about now.  Among her friend group, the stranger had become somewhat an inside joke, and mostly a secret mission.  He was tall, blonde, maybe his late twenties to early thirties, and tattooed. You didn’t get much of that at school.  Especially not in Clarkston. Gloria swiveled around, checking out one of the entrances to the cafeteria. All she found was a sea of students. 

There was a small squeal. 

Gloria turned back around.  He was walking through the crowd, to the snack bar.  He always bought a rice krispy treat at lunch. 

“Sam, did you get the picture?” 

“Hold on.”   
“Sam! Did you get the fucking picture?” 

“Chill the hell out Emma, wait, hold on, got it!” 

Gloria leaned towards Lexi, “Tell me again, why we’re doing this.” 

She whispered, “Because this school is fucking boring.” she paused, “And he’s kinda cute.” 

Emma and Sam looked up from his phone with horrified looks.   
“What, he’s got a DILF-” 

“Stop.” Emma shook her head. 

 Sam looked disappointed. “I didn’t know you liked older men.” Lexi shrugged. Sam turned to Gloria, “would I look older with a beard?” 

“No,” Gloria said, “You’d look like a drug dealer.” 

“So like Mr. Ritter?” 

“Mr. Ritter isn’t a drug dealer, where did you hear that?”   
Sam made a face and looked back to the phone.  Gloria let it go and turned back to the strange man.  His back was to them, a yellow button down and blue jeans, nice clean dress shoes. He wasn’t like other visitors at the school, he didn’t have one of those “VISITOR” stickers with their name and whatnot, and he didn’t teach anywhere.  “I have an idea.” Gloria pushed herself up from the table. 

There were some choked protests from her table mates but she ignored them and made her way over to the man.  If she timed it right she could just-

He turned, rice krispy treats in hand and barreled right into her, the treats fell to the floor. “I’m sorry.” He laughed and bent down to pick them up.   
Gloria handed one of the marshmallow bars to him and smiled.  “No you’re fine.” Wedding ring. Sherlockie Holmes up in this bitch.  Drawing out her non existent acting skill she pretended to realize something, “You look familiar, what do you teach?” 

His face stuttered for a second, eyes crinkling. “Oh! No i don’t teach anything, I’m just visiting.”

 She was going to ask who, that was a place to start, but then, his phone rang. He smiled at her, she recognized it as a parting smile and fumbled with his rice krispy treats and his pocket for his phone. “Maybe Tattoo.” He said it in a chimey customer service voice. 

Mother-fucking-Sherlock-Holmes. 

“What the hell was that Gloria? That was genius!”  Sam exclaimed when she returned, glorious. 

“What the hell didn’t we think of that!” Emma said, giving her a stinging red high five.   
“You steal any of his Rice Krispys?” Lexi bumped their shoulders together.   
“No, I got something better.” She turned to Sam, whose phone sat on the table. “Look up, Maybe Tattoo.”   
There was a beat.  “Alright Nancy Drew.” He picked his phone up. “Why am I doing this exactly? Is that where he got his stuff done?” 

“No it’s where he works.” 

Lexi took a sip off her slushie, “I figured, he looks like a fucking hipster.” 

“I thought you thought he was hot.” Emma quipped. 

“Yeah? What about it.” 

Sam looked up at her, “I'm gonna start wearing beanies.  Do you think I have the face for a beanie. And craft beers, those taste so good.”   
Lexi smiled.  Emma snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Tattoo shop, now.” 

“Oh! Uhh,” he scrolled, “Oh? May. Be.  Like two words, not one. That’s dumb.”   
Gloria leaned across the table, “Are there any pictures? He said he’s visiting someone, maybe there is a picture of someone here at the school. Anybody we recognize.” 

“Uhhhh, not that I can see.  He’s there though, wow!” Sam looked up, “Looks like he owns the place. He does have the hipster vibe though, definitely. Wait! Hold up!” Everyone in the table shared a single group glance and then returned their eyes to Sam, “Stop the fucking presses up in this bitch. Oh my, shit face in a hole!”   
“Wow sam watch-” 

“MR.  RITTER IS IN ONE OF THESE PHOTOS!” 


End file.
